


Sometimes

by Remnant Stars (AerynsFallen)



Category: Edge of Tomorrow (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M, Fluffy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 09:06:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7971025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AerynsFallen/pseuds/Remnant%20Stars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A continuation in three parts after the movie. Pretty much self-indulgence because I wanted more romance. Originally posted in 2014 on FF.net.</p><p>What if Rita Vrataski felt the connection between her and William Cage? How would she react to the truth of their past? "How many times did you watch me die?" "Too many Rita. Too damn many."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ...The End is a Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted on FF.net. Originally written in 2014 and the first fanfic posted for the movie version.  
> I suck at titles, please forgive me.

Sergeant Rita Vrataski had never met the man before in her life. She didn't know him, had never seen his face except on television. And then, he hadn't really left a good impression either. He seemed more a politician than a soldier, more an ass-kisser than a fighter. She'd never seen his face and thought he was a man she wanted to meet. But now, as he watched her with an unnervingly intense expression, he seemed almost familiar. She felt such a warm rush of genuine affection that it left her bewildered. Even as she scowled at him, she had the greatest urge to throw her arms around him, to kiss the senseless smile off his face.

"Do I have something on my face, sir?"

He seemed to recover from whatever spell he'd been under, his smile fading, his good mood seeming to turn. She preferred the smile over his somber expression.

"No, I just..." He seemed to search for words then extended his hand after some hesitation. She had the oddest urge to slap it away, to embrace the man that was the face of the war. The man whose charisma had inspired thousands to enlist in a war that was sure to be their death sentence. "Major William Cage. It's good to finally meet The Angel of Verdun."

_But we've met._ The words were on the tip of her tongue. _Haven't we?_ She shook his hand but felt no callouses that indicated he had ever used a weapon. "Please, just Sergeant Vrataski is fine sir." They stood in a silent vigil, both watching the other. What did he want from her? She knew why she was watching him so intently. He inspired feelings that confused the hell out of her. But why was he watching her with such an intent expression? Major Cage, _William_ supplied her brain, watched her with an almost hopeful expression. "Was there a specific reason for this visit, sir?"

"Please, Cage is fine." His smile was forced. She could see it in the almost wince he'd given at her question.

"Cage." A sense of deja vu swept over her. Unlike a 'reset' and yet similar enough to be eerie. "Yes, well, if you don't mind I was in the middle of something."

The man simply nodded. _William_ , supplied her brain again. _William_ saluted and turned abruptly. A voice inside screamed at her to stop him. But the feeling was too similar to another time, a time when she'd tried so desperately to save a man she'd cared so much for, only to lose him. Nothing she'd ever did could save him, no matter her desperate need, and stopping Cage would help nothing.

He was walking away, but something was wrong. She could see it in his stiff posture, in the fine tension that made his hands clench at his sides. He wanted to leave as much as she wanted to relive even one of her deaths.

It happened so quickly. Someone wasn't paying attention. Perhaps they thought the interruption to her regular routine was an accident. The machines came to life in a whir of noise and spinning blades. She might have cried out a warning, but a warning wasn't needed. Not when Major Cage moved so easily, anticipating the movements of the machines surrounding them. She dropped flat to her stomach, something in her chest tearing at the knowledge of the carnage that was sure to come. Anguish tightened her throat. Maybe he'd fought one before, maybe he'd survived. But she doubted it and no one survived for long, not him, not even her. So many battles she'd fought and lost, died just to gain a weak thread of ability, some semblance of skill. Over a hundred deaths and she was still certain she would die the next day. Rita was no longer able to reset but she could feel her impending death on the horizon. And deep inside she was glad.

She looked up expecting to see his body, flung far away perhaps, bleeding, _broken_. Eyes glassy and lifeless. What she saw instead stunned her.

Major William Cage was either a born natural or simply truly experienced. He wasn't engaging the machines. It would be suicide without a jacket or even any form of weapon. He was simply moving across the floor, back towards the soldiers gaping at this approach. He dodged the false mimics with an ease that sent shivers down her spine. He knew where they were going to be before they were there. He _knew._ And the knowledge lifted her to her feet. He must be like her, and somehow they'd met before. His expression of hopeful resignation made sense. How many times had she hoped she would be remembered, only to have to introduce herself yet again? How many times had she watched someone she was trying to save die? She didn't remember a day she'd never lived but he did. And it was clear he remembered every moment. Who knew how many days he'd lived by her side. How many times he'd had to watch _her_ die. She knew her death was coming. How many times had he tried to avoid it? But why had he stopped himself? Why walk away?

"William!"

He stopped, a machine whipping past him close enough to stir his hair. For a moment her heart was in her throat, but the machines stopped finally. He turned around and faced her with an expressionless face.

"Yes, Sergeant Vrataski?" How could he stare at her, knowing what he knew, remembering a thousand moments they'd shared that she could not? How could he remain so calm when already her nerves were taut and fraying simply knowing that he was like her?

"How many times did you watch me die?" It was an absurd question. She could see the other soldiers watching their interaction with perplexed expressions. But she knew he would understand, he was the only person who could possibly understand.

It was as if a dam inside Cage broke, his resolute facade crumbling. For a moment his eyes filled with an aching weariness, an anguish that mirrored her own, soul deep and inextinguishable. For a moment he looked as haunted as she felt.

"Too many Rita. Too damn many."

She was in his arms in the next moment, his forehead pressed to the side of her face. He shuddered as she held him close. With only a glare the immediate vicinity was deserted, and they were alone. Rita could feel the warmth of his tears against her neck. She could feel the fine tremors of his body as he clung to her so desperately.

"You're alive." And the only comfort she could provide was an affirmation as she stroked his hair.

"Why did you walk away? Why come to see me and then walk away?"

"Because you were alive and I just needed to see you once to make sure."

"You weren't going to tell me." She felt suddenly bereft. She didn't know him, but she could _feel_ a connection. Maybe it was because she too, used to reset. Maybe some part of her remembered. He was like her and he'd never planned on telling her, not in this reset, maybe never again. "Why?"

"Because it's over. Because I lost it, the ability to reset. Because this time I don't have to watch you die. I could walk away, knowing that you would live your life free from me, and free from the hundreds of deaths I led you to, like cattle to the slaughter. Just like the last death, the one neither of us was supposed to walk away from. But here you are and you're safe. And we did that. We ended it."

She took in what he said, feeling a wave of relief. It was over. They had won. It was the only way that both of them could be standing here. Then there was pain, as she realized that whatever they shared together would have been nothing after today. Simply a memory in his mind, never to be shared with anyone. And she would have merely wondered at the end of the war that she'd invested so much of herself in, suspected the outcome but never really known.

What could she say? Maybe it was better that she didn't know? But it wasn't, not for him. She understood connections made and lost in the hours of a single day. She understood loss better than anyone. It was made so much worse when you realized that no one else would remember it.

"Thank you for telling me." But where would they go from here?

He still had his arms wrapped securely around her, his face pressed to the hollow between her neck and shoulder. He smelled faintly of cologne and the scent stung her sensitive nose but it was welcome. He smelled good. She shivered as his breath tickled her skin and she realized that this was quite a unique moment. Never had she been the one who didn't remember. Never had she been the one that needed an explanation. But now that she was, it was a surreal experience. She could sense his desperation, his joy as he held her. And she suddenly felt very awkward.

What were they to each other? What did he expect from her now that she had accepted his explanation. Despite their instant connection he was still a stranger to her. A face she'd felt a faint resentment towards. He seemed to realize whatever moment they'd shared was over. He pulled away, his face just a little red.

"I'm sorry Rita. I know you don't know me. But I know you. I know you probably better than anyone. And it's good to see you alive."

"I understand." She really did. She offered her hand and he took it. She tugged him forward, towards the exit. He followed but she could read the question in his eyes. "I may not know you, but I'd like to."

William smiled, his hand squeezing hers. "I'd like that. There was never enough time." He gestured around them. "Between the training, the planning, the fighting and..." He hesitated, smiling ruefully. "the times you had to shoot me to start a reset." It might sound horrible, but she smiled. Sometimes there was never a way to avoid it. She could remember the times she had no one to shoot her and she had to end it herself. No matter how many times you died, it never got any easier. And he didn't seem too offended by it.

"So William Cage, let's start with an easy question. Where are you from?"

She watched the smile spread across his face and felt a moment of deja vu once again. She had a feeling that whatever he told her, good or bad, she was going to end up loving the man. And that was fine with her.


	2. ...Confrontation is a Good Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What more is William Cage to Rita than a friend? What more could he hope for?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just going to add a warning: it gets pretty fluffy from here...

It was two months after the end of the war. There were no more Mimics, whatever connection to the Omega had been broken and they had become nothing more than lifeless shells. Major William Cage had seen no official battle, thus he was not awarded. No one knew how the Mimics were defeated, only that they were now gone. And even those that had helped to save the world had no clue of their part. To most people he was a face and nothing else. Those who'd fought against the Mimics stared at him with disdain, and often with incredulity at his fast friendship with the war hero, Rita Vrataski, "The Angel of Verdun" or more notably perhaps, "The Fullmetal Bitch." She hated both names, feeling she didn't deserve the first due to the nature of her abilities, and she found the second name disparaging and was more than a little offended by it.

He'd kept his rank after the war but it was nothing more than that, simply a rank affixed to his name in recognition of successfully recruiting so many men and women to their cause. No one would ever look to him for battle strategy, no one would ever expect him to fight another war, or even want to. His cowardice may not be remembered, or his attempted blackmail but his character was judged. Already people had it in their heads that he was simply a man pretending to be a soldier. What was once true had bothered him at first but now he found he was happy. Rita, his dearest friend, might not remember his deeds but she'd seen the evidence in their sparring matches, in the pain written in his expression anytime he chose to speak of what had conspired. She believed him without doubt, having experienced so much of what he had firsthand. They'd become close, but it was always a little unbalanced. His feelings of love and fierce joy at her simple existence were at odds with her own feelings of deep regard and camaraderie. She understood him better than anyone but she still hadn't experienced his memories first hand. She hadn't watched him die too many times to count. She'd never wished she'd never known him to save herself from the heartbreak. She felt something for him, but it couldn't compare.

Instead she had her own memories of a man that she would not speak of just yet. A man that Cage knew she'd cared deeply for, and lost in much the same way he'd lost her. But the difference was, she was alive and Cage spent as much time in her presence as she would allow. He couldn't help but wonder if she loved that man, as he loved her and the thought was a painful one. But sometimes he thought that she cared for him, as more than just a friend. She smiled often in his presence, and was opening up to him more and more, about her past, her experiences at Verdun, her own painful resets. It was a slower process the second time around. There was no life or death struggle, no urgency to their interactions and so she felt no need to share as quickly and be so open when she knew there was no death for her looming around the corner.

XX

They were training together. They wore their Jackets, training with the false Mimics. There was no longer a need for the Jackets and most of them were stored away or destroyed and re-purposed. Rita had been allowed to keep her own for ceremonial purposes and William had used whatever influence at his disposal to gain one for himself. They worked together as a team, demolishing whatever was in their way. They'd torn this room apart and rebuilt it more than a dozen times, careful to not destroy anything that was irreparable. It was therapeutic for both of them, and it kept their demons at bay.

When the session was over they stared at each other with wide grins. Sweat soaked the hair to their heads, and Rita's face was flushed with colour. Cage was once again struck by how beautiful she was, even after a long workout. She was wearing only a dark tank top and shorts under the Jacket, the room they trained in having little air circulation. He'd long become comfortable wearing only a pair of cargo shorts around Rita, his chest bared. He stepped out of his Jacket and flexed his arms. His and Rita's experiences were almost equal, but she always seemed to have the upper hand. After a workout as long as theirs he was sore. It was a familiar, thus pleasant, ache of a body pushed to it's limits. He'd kept in shape over the last few weeks, his body becoming even more toned.

He stretched the muscles in his arms, watching Rita stretch out her own limbs appreciatively. He hoped she didn't notice, uncertain if she would be offended by his perusal. They'd never broached the definition of what their relationship was. Rita had no issues with touching him, affectionate to the point of torture as she stroked his arms or massaged his neck and shoulders after a training session. She introduced him as a friend even as she linked her arm through his and kept close at social functions. Recently she'd begun greeting him with a kiss, her mouth brushing the corner of his mouth seemingly by accident.

Cage wanted to question her motives, even _demand_ for her to explain. She was frustrating him with mixed signals. Because as affectionate as she was with him, she often stilled entirely when _he_ touched her. The few times he reciprocated with a light kiss to her cheek or a squeeze of the arm in support she'd recoiled from him.

He forced himself to shake off his sudden melancholy and smile at Rita. She was grinning, joyful after kicking his ass soundly. She pumped her fist in the air in a juvenile declaration of her own superiority.

"Your getting old, Cage! That round was _easy_." She did a small victory dance, the sway of her hips discomfiting him, even as his heart dropped at the reminder of his age.

He looked good for his age, he knew it. But that didn't mean he could ignore the fact that he was 16 years her senior. Almost old enough to be her father. Old enough that his own thoughts of lust towards her made him feel a little ashamed. She seemed to notice his mood change and stopped her dance.

"Cage? I was only joking." He nodded tersely. "I'm serious Cage. Your age isn't an issue."

"Then what is?" He could have shot himself the moment the words escaped. He hadn't meant to say them but the thought was always there. What was he to her?

Rita turned away, her arms folding in front of her. He wanted to take the words back. For a moment he was sure she would walk away from him. The tearing in his chest was too familiar. An echo of the pain he'd felt after so many of her deaths. She was going to walk away from him because of one mistake.

"Rita, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I know we're...friends. I just..." What could he say to explain? How could he possibly explain that he was lost without her? He knew one day she might marry, have kids with some faceless man, and Cage would be on the sideline. Always on the sideline, as her best friend, her confidante. He would stay there rather than walk away. To see her grow old, to be happy, to see her belly round with someone else's child. To combat the memories he had, so many memories of her broken body. Memories of lifeless eyes, images he could conjure with a single thought. A shattered skull, broken spine, blood surrounding her unmoving form. And the pain he felt, the hole in his chest that urged him to move forward, to find a way to kill the Omega, but never before he saved Rita. He was certain at one point that he would leave her behind, finish the entire thing by himself before she ever landed on the beach. And if he died it might mean something. It would mean she would live. Of course it hadn't worked out that way. And he was grateful.

To be given this opportunity to live beside her, knowing all that she was and being her friend was a privilege. How could he ask for more?

"That's what you think, Cage?" Rita's voice was choked and when she turned to face him, tears shone in her eyes. "You think that we're _friends_?"

"Of course. Aren't we?"

Rita shook her head vehemently. "I may not remember what you do, but I _knew._ I knew from the moment you spoke that you were special. And it scared me. It still scares me. How the hell could I feel so much for a man I just met? When it took so many deaths for me to feel even a fraction of what I feel for you for someone else?"

Cage stared at her, not daring to hope. "What are you saying Rita?"

Rita threw her hands up in exasperation and strode towards him. He barely had time to respond before she was pulling his face down to hers. Their teeth struck but the sting was good, turning into heat as her tongue slid into his mouth. She kissed him as if it was the last chance they had, with lips and teeth and tongue, desperation turning into fire.

She shoved against Cage and he fell backwards, pulling her with him. The breath was knocked out of his lungs but right then kissing Rita was so much more important than breathing. When she pulled away from him to breathe he kissed her cheeks, her nose and chin, the line of her jaw and hollow of her throat, anywhere he could reach with his adoration. Finally, Rita laughed, pressing against his shoulders to still him.

"William!" Her protestation was halfhearted at best. She rested her elbows lightly on his shoulders, laying her chin on folded hands. "I'm sorry."

Cage was beyond ecstatic, unable to believe that Rita had actually kissed him. "You don't have to be sorry."

"Yes I do. I know I've been throwing you mixed signals. But I was so confused. You know about Verdun, you know who I've lost even when I don't remember telling you, you know more about me than anyone. The connection between us was always more from the beginning. More than friends, more than allies but I've been trying to figure out how much more I wanted us to be."

Cage held his breath. "And?"

"I knew from the moment you smiled at me that I could love you. It just took me awhile to follow through." She kissed him then, tenderly, with more emotion than she'd ever displayed.

The words remained unspoken but he didn't need them, not yet. Not when she'd given him more than he'd hoped for.

_I love you._ He wouldn't say the words aloud just yet. He could wait until she was ready to hear them. Right now kissing her was more important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fact is, Tom Cruise is 21ish years older than Emily Blunt but I chose an age difference that's a little lower. Not that I have any issues with age differences...
> 
> And one more to go...


	3. ...You Need to Hear the Words.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The three little words that were often the hardest to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last one for this story. I'll be posting another story which will contain all of my one-shots. 
> 
> I took some liberties with their backstories. Hope no one minds.

Rita and William were eventually discharged from the military. There was no need for soldiers, no need for even _distinguished_ soldiers to remain in a military with no war to fight. It was a freeing feeling. They traveled together, both agreeing without words that they could not settle, not yet. They were from different countries and even fighting a war, living in one country for so many months did not mean that Cage could stay indefinitely. He was loathe to return to the states without Rita. She made it easy for him, asking to go with him before he'd decided what he should do.

As much as he'd grown to appreciate the country of Rita's birth, he found himself eager to return home. And he was thrilled that Rita chose to return with him. There was so much that needed to be rebuilt after the war, and very little that Rita, as a former farm girl, or William, as an ad exec, could do to assist. They were both strong, capable of physical labor, but the United Defense Force did not want their help. They were simply pawns to those in power, and Rita in particular, was a danger to the balance of power. She was a war hero, intelligent, strong-willed and well-loved. If she wanted to run for office, she could and she would win. But Rita had as much interest in politics as she did in fighting another war. The world of politics was too corrupted for her presence to make any real difference. Her stints in psychiatric wards, or horrific memories of being cut open without consent proved it. There had been no trial, simply a word from the General and she was no longer a free citizen, no longer a person in the eyes of the law. And she was dealt with accordingly.

She felt the need to escape from the public eye for even a short while, and what William offered she gratefully accepted. Their relationship was now clear, to them and all those who watched. She did not shy from public displays of affection. Rather she was often the one to initiate them, staking her claim on him for all to see. William found it arousing, and slightly worrying. She was a private person by nature yet she seemed to want to flaunt their relationship and he often wondered why.

To Rita it was simple. She'd lost Hendricks to the war against the Mimics and it had proven to her how short life truly was. She and William had wasted so many weeks, losing time to their own indecision and sidestepping of what they felt. William was attractive, with women throwing themselves at him daily. She would not lose him either, she couldn't bear it. Not to some other woman, not to her own doubts, not to another war. So yes, she'd staked her claim for everyone to see, to leave no doubt in theirs or William's mind that she was serious about what she felt for him. Perhaps it was an act of desperation on her part. She still had nightmares of Hendricks' deaths, too many for one person to endure. She'd nearly convinced herself that it hadn't been love, what she'd felt for Hendricks, merely infatuation. And the thought scared her. If she could explain away her own feelings for a man she'd once loved so fiercely, then how long would it take William to convince himself that he did not love her?

In truth, she'd loved Hendricks, how could she not? They'd fought side by side, clung to each other in their darkest moments, in the midst of a battle that was certain to mean both their deaths. To share so much could only inspire love, but if that love was lasting was the question. They'd kissed desperately, spoken words of devotion that she was certain he hadn't felt, not entirely. It had been one day and night in his life, and to her it had been an eternity. But even the memory of his face was starting to fade into a fuzzy image she'd tried desperately to recall. Was it because she'd found someone else? Or was it because the infatuation she'd felt for him was wearing off?

How did she and William's relationship differ? Some part of her had recognized him from the moment he'd stepped into her field of vision. Some part of her had jumped into awareness simply at his presence. She was certain Hendricks had never felt that. She and William, they'd died and reset the day, shared a bond no one else in the world would ever understand. And she clung to the idea that through this, what she'd felt, what _he_ felt was genuine. She'd remembered him, not his face, or his voice or his laugh. It was deeper, intangible, through the impact he'd made on her life, irrevocably changing it for the better. If she didn't already believe the only fate you had was one you set yourself, then perhaps she'd believe they were meant to meet.

There was one more obstacle in their relationship that she knew William was waiting for her to overcome, so patiently she wanted to cry at her luck in finding him. The words were often unspoken, hanging between them with so much anticipation. Rita held them back consciously, unwilling to give the world any reason to tear them apart. It was too much, having him at her side after everything she'd seen. She still dreamed of the pain of being split open, of being conscious and watching as they dissected her with such clinical fascination. She still dreamed of sitting in a padded room in a straight jacket and hearing the world being torn apart around her, waiting to be found, so helpless she'd been terrified. There had been so many possible endings to her life, and yet she'd been given this one. It was stupid and superstitious but her fear held the words back.

William sometimes said them, quietly when he thought she was asleep, whispering them into her hair as he held her. He said them with his eyes every time he looked at her, the feeling overwhelming her. She understood he was giving her time, perhaps unable to believe that she could feel what he did. She wished he could be the braver one, taking that step that she seemed unable to overcome.

It should have been easy. How many times had a man said the words to her in a moment of passion? The words were so often empty, a knee-jerk reaction to show his appreciation during sex. And she and William had sex quite regularly. She was often sore in ways she'd never remembered ever being. Their passion for each other seemed unending, the need to be pressed as close as humanly possible so prevalent she often jumped him at random moments. Often simply watching made her knees weak, the ache for him sharp between her legs. It could be the way his lips tilted upwards when he smiled, or the cute way his brow creased in confusion or even the way the sweat slid down his chest after a workout. She'd never been so hungry for someone in her life. And he returned her passion equally.

It was at the point that if he'd asked her, she would agree to marry him that day. Find a judge or courtroom or even fly to Vegas, anything that could bind him to her eternally. And still the words would not come.

Rita had never been outside of Europe so Cage was determined that she see the best that his home country had to offer. He thought about starting from his semi-permanent home in New Jersey but decided to save it for last. They started in Colorado, It was late fall and already the ground was blanketed in several inches of snow. Cage delighted in showing Rita how to ski and snowboard. She'd picked it up quickly and he loved seeing her after a race down the slope, her cheeks flushed from the cold air. They'd spent days on the slopes, or touring the state and nights in their mountain resort, keeping each other warm in their bed or by the fireplace. He learned much about her life as a former self-proclaimed farm girl. He learned of her family, her parents long-dead. He told her of his own childhood spent in poverty but with parents that had loved him. He told her of his drive to be more than what his parents wanted for him, a tomato farmer or small-town doctor. He told her of his compulsion to gain wealth and status in equal measure. It was how he'd joined the U.S. military, the attention appealing to his sense of self-importance, even if the pay could not compare to his former life. He was no longer that man, and Rita was quick to forgive his past selfishness.

They spent much of the relatively mild winter in Colorado before driving down through the country to California, rerouting several times simply to travel to whatever tourist attraction caught Rita's interest. It was nice for Cage to simply be another tourist, never having seen so much of his country before.

Their stay in California was short, driving from one place to another, staying at a hotel for no longer than a few nights. Still, it was bliss, to have no responsibility for such a short time at least. Soon reality would encroach on their vacation, and they would have to make some heavy decisions. After California it was back north, to his home state with more tourism along the way.

They made it to New Jersey in the middle of April. He'd long moved on from the small town of Cranberry but to him the state was nostalgic and it was one place he felt at home. Newark was the fast-growing city he'd called home when he wasn't abroad. It was enough of a bustling metropolis that his ad company had thrived, with frequent trips to Philadelphia and New York to supplement his client base. Yet it was small enough that it felt laid-back compared to much larger cities. Cherry blossom trees lined the streets of his own neighborhood, giving the air a generally pleasant scent despite the expected pollution. Rita loved them on sight. The weather had been particularly mild this year and the blossoms had bloomed earlier than expected, almost as if foreshadowing the days after the war. Too long had the world been focused on an end of days scenario, and now it seemed they were all ready to breathe a sigh of relief and somehow move on from the shadows of the past.

William brought Rita to his townhouse, not overly large, but lavishly furnished. The old him might have flaunted his wealth to Rita, his chest puffing like some proud peacock at the spoils he'd managed to collect. Now he looked around his home with a sense of shame, his once prized possessions becoming meaningless, proof of his past foolishness.

Yet Rita simply smiled at his discomfort, easing him with warm words and gentle affection. She could admit that she'd never lived with such wealth, and her own sense of shame was easy for him to read and dismiss. They'd lived worlds apart, not just in location, but in any other way that might have kept them far apart. Economically, socially, with different values and goals. Yet it seemed silly now, knowing each other as well as they did, that they would have found happiness with anyone else. Rita would never forget Hendricks, a brave man, and cherished friend. But the sense of hurt and loss had faded, the guilt slipping away the more that William shared with her, the more he opened himself to her scrutiny. She could almost believe that if Hendricks happened to be anywhere looking down on her, that he would smile at the piece of happiness she'd found for herself.

Their first week was spent by William showing her the sights, even driving her out to Cranberry to show her his old home, to meet the parents that he'd spent years avoiding. They'd loved her on sight, remarking that her accent was the nicest they'd ever heard. They were simple people, but William no longer felt embarrassed by them. They'd done their best by him and Rita seemed enamored with them. She said they reminded her of her own parents, long dead by Mimics. William could only hold her as she sobbed after his parents had stated they'd always wanted a daughter.

They'd returned to William's house, and after refraining from sex while staying with his parents, they'd christened every room in his home. It was only afterward, when Rita was snuggled close to William on his soft, but overstuffed, couch that she began to think about what everything meant. With William, she was home. She had no particular desire to return across the ocean, except perhaps to visit. A return would only herald the media frenzy that had followed her around the last few months. Here, though still a war hero, she went largely unnoticed. The United States was picking up the pieces, and the media was swamped with news of clean-up efforts, and a return to some form of stability. They had their own heroes that they chose to highlight, even playing segments of William's recruitment ads, much to his horror. At home she would be pressured, to take office, to make some difference in the nation that had lost so much. She found she was tired of all the attention, the nicknames, the praise they shoved in her face, even as they ridiculed her behind her back. Hadn't saving the world been enough? She'd once lost everything to the Mimics, to the fight against them. She figured she was due something in return.

As she watched William, her on her back and he on his side, she was filled with a deep gratitude. He was a patient man, a better man then she perhaps deserved after all her mistakes, and all the deaths she hadn't been able to prevent. Yet he'd done it, saved them all without a single drop of blood shed, without a single casket sent home to grieving families. She didn't resent him for it, she loved him for it. Even if he'd believed that he was leading them to their deaths.

His eyes remained towards her, though unfocused, seeing through her. She traced the lines of his mouth, the small grooves and skin imperfections that she so adored. He smiled at her, the affection shining through his expression. He loved her and she'd never had any doubt about his feelings. And only the world ending would take him away from her.

It was as if a heavy burden was lifted from her shoulders as she realized that he wouldn't turn out like her parents, or Hendricks, that he'd fight tooth and nail to stay by her side. He was a fighter, like she was. It became easy then to say the words she'd been holding back. She could give him this. She could be brave for him.

"I love you, William."

His eyes became as focused as lasers, and for a moment he stopped breathing. His gaze searched her, the hands that had been idly stroking her hips, and lay still in her hair gripped her tight for just a moment. She knew she'd made the right decision when a smile lit his face. Their lips were graceless in their exuberance, teeth nipping and drawing blood unintentionally. It only stoked their desire to celebrate this moment. He whispered 'I love you' across the features of her skin, his lips pressing against hers again and again.

And for that night at least she forgot everything else but him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :)


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